


It's You I Can't Deny

by scruffylou



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, Pining, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-03
Updated: 2013-03-03
Packaged: 2017-12-04 03:55:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/706259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scruffylou/pseuds/scruffylou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry's heart is shattered and Zayn takes it upon himself to pick up the pieces. What he doesn't realize is that maybe his heart is broken too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's You I Can't Deny

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was the result of listening to "Irresistible" on repeat about a million times one day in the car. The title is from the song "My Blue Heaven" by Taking Back Sunday. This is my first longer piece, so I'd love to know what you think. Thank you for reading.

Harry hung off the arm of the sofa, arms limp and body stretching towards the boy who had just gotten up and was currently walking away from him. "Please don't do this Louis, please don't, please I'll do anything," the words spilled from Harry's lips desperately, one after another as the tears spilled from his eyes even faster. He was whimpering, breathing heavily like he did when he would get panicky, when the touring got to be too much. The hard lines of his face when he shot his famous glare at the cameras were gone, and he looked suddenly sixteen again, all soft cheeks and wide, watery eyes full of something you only have when you’re young. He wanted Louis to hold him, to tell him it was okay, to ground him like he always did. But Louis was leaving. He was walking unsteadily towards the door of Harry's flat, trying to ignore the crying, trying not to turn around. But it was harder than anything because he was always taking care of Harry. He had made it his job. And he was holding back the tears and he was acting indifferent and he knew it was hurting Harry. But it was killing him even more.  
  
Harry’s pleading wasn’t working and he finally scrambled off the couch and ran to Louis, angling his way in front of him and blocking the door. He grabbed Louis' forearms and held them as tight as he could. "Don't go, please just don't go," he sobbed between every other word. “I need you. I need you so bad.”  
  
Louis tried to look away, to the side, down, anything. He stood there, limply, not fighting back, just standing, trying to be emotionless. But he wasn’t. He never had been. Every feeling he’d ever felt, he let himself feel fully. Everything hit him like a wall of bricks, happy or sad. He was good at hiding it, but it was there. And when he finally let himself look at Harry, he wanted to collapse. The beautiful green eyes that usually flickered with mischief and happiness were quivering with tears, pupils blown; red and tired, desperation almost screaming behind them. His lips were bright and swollen, open slightly as he breathed heavily between each sob, and his nose ran a little, but he kept sniffling to stop it. He was a mess, a complete wreck.  
  
Hot tears pricked the corners of Louis' eyes and he swallowed hard to stop them from pooling up and spilling down his cheeks. He took a deep breath and tried to keep his voice even. He didn’t want Harry to see him breaking, to give him false hope, to prolong anything. "I just can't do it anymore, Harry. It's always on my shoulders. Everything is. And I love you so much. SO fucking much that it's making me sick. I can't do this hiding thing anymore and I can't keep all of the secrets and be aching to touch you and take all of the blame and I can't deal with the fans...it-it was supposed to be easier than this. It was and I'm s...I just can't do it," Louis' voice cracked and fell apart over the last few words, and he turned his head, looking down and blinking. He started to cry then and he grabbed Harry's face in both hands and gripped it, needily, swiping at the tears with his thumbs and biting his bottom lip bitterly. "I'm always going to miss you, Harry. But from now on we're just….we’re just band mates." His eyes were cold blue and his voice full of an almost sarcastic venom, on the edge of some kind of sick laugh as the last few words forced themselves out. He let Harry's face go a little too suddenly and Harry was in too much shock to do anything. His arms fell to his sides and Louis took the opportunity to push past him, fumbling with the doorknob and hurrying out. The door clicked shut and Harry could hear Louis' quick footsteps fading down the hallway. He leaned his head against the door and crumbled to the floor, silent tears turning into loud sobs that racked his body as he collapsed on himself, curling into a ball right there in the entryway of the flat. He stayed that way until he finally exhausted himself, falling asleep with his face in the crook of his elbow.  
  
Harry woke a few hours later, blinking in the dim light of the hallway. He didn't know if it was day or night, but as soon as he remembered why he was laying there, he began to cry again, silent and broken. He pulled himself to his feet, wiping at his eyes bitterly and made his way to the living room. He fell onto the couch and stared at the blank television through his tears. He didn’t know it was possible to cry this much, or at least, he couldn’t remember a time when he had. His phone was lying on the coffee table in front of him and he picked it up, pressing the button on the side so that the screen would light up. He let himself hope that Louis would have called, texted, something. But the hope was replaced with a sick feeling in his gut when all that appeared on the screen was the time. Eleven oh three p.m.  
  
He suddenly realized that this was it. He was alone. It had felt like a bad dream, but it wasn’t. And he panicked. They wouldn’t walk to the little shop down the road at eleven at night to get bananas and ice cream and chocolate sauce anymore. The door wouldn’t creak open while he took a shower, just to be followed by the warmth of Louis’ body pressed against his back and his wide, toothy smile right next to his face. He wouldn’t hold Harry during some stupid movie marathon and they wouldn’t kiss in closets at news studios and they wouldn’t share drinks and he wouldn’t smell the shampoo in Louis’ hair and the soap on his skin when he got into bed at night. The sick feeling took over his entire body and he started to breathe heavily and whimper a little. "It's okay, it's okay. It's going to be okay," he started to repeat to himself, but his voice wasn't calm. It didn't match the words coming out. He ran through the contacts in his phone, hands shaking as he scrolled down the list. Liam? He was closer to Louis and Harry knew they’d be talking about it eventually. He didn’t want to explain anything to Liam right now. Niall? No, he was in Mullingar visiting his family during their extended break. Nick? He was probably drunk right now. Or asleep. Or both. And he wasn’t exactly the most sympathetic person. Finally his finger landed on Zayn's name. Yes. Zayn would calm him down. Zayn would understand.  
  
Harry tapped the name and hit the call button. He held the phone up to his ear and breathed into the receiver, trying to calm his voice while he waited for Zayn to answer. "Hello?" Zayn said sleepily from the other end of the line.  
"Zayn..." Harry's voice was almost completely gone, hoarse and wrecked and even deeper than it normally was.  
  
"Hell, Harry are you okay? You sound...you sound awful," Zayn answered, sounding worried and a little more awake all of a sudden.  
  
Harry had planned on keeping his voice calm, but that plan failed when he heard the worry in Zayn's voice. The fact that he cared turned Harry back into the mess he was a few minutes before. "Louis, he, he," Harry was sobbing so hard that it was hard to understand what he was saying, but Zayn was patient.  
  
"He what Harry? What did Louis do?" Zayn asked gently.  
  
"He's gone," Harry bawled. "He left me, he left me. I'm alone."  
  
"Harry calm down, mate, calm down. I'm coming over, okay?" Zayn soothed as best he could through the phone.  
  
"O-okay," Harry croaked. "Thanks."  
  
"Don't mention it. Just unlock your door, okay? It's gonna be alright," Zayn assured him. "I'll be there soon. Love you, Hazza."  
  
"Love you too, Zayn," Harry said shakily and hung up. He made his way to the door and unlocked it. Zayn only lived across the apartment complex, so he knew it wouldn't be long until he was there. He sat back on the sofa and pulled a huge blanket around his shoulders. He flipped the television on and waited, still shaking a little and sniffling every few minutes. The background noise calmed him down enough that he closed his eyes and before Zayn even made it to the flat, he was asleep, snoring a little through his stuffy nose, his head leaned against the armrest of the sofa and his eyelids flickering.  
  
  
  
  


Zayn found Harry like that, television light flickering across his face, blanket pulled up above his chin and below his lips, breathing with his mouth open, and his heart broke for him. He was always the one that Zayn worried about. Louis was the most emotional, but he was strong too. He could take a lot. Niall just had so much love for everyone and everything, and life in general that it wasn’t hard to see that he’d always be okay. Nothing really set him back much, because he just had this great attitude and this golden lion-heart. Liam was full of empathy and worry for all of his boys, but he was strong like Louis and he was sensible. Little things didn’t shake him or set him off course because he could always see far enough ahead to know that everything would turn out alright. And then there was Harry.  
  
Harry was quiet and reserved most of the time, unless he got into one of his hyper, slaphappy moods. Otherwise, he watched and listened and quietly smiled and added little things to conversations that just usually made everyone’s day. But he was always thinking and he was the one that let everything get to him. Zayn had watched him fall for Louis and had seen how they clung to each other. The energy between them was almost destructive; something dangerous teetering on the edge and one push off balance could send everything into oblivion. As much as they belonged together, he’d always been scared of what they could do to each other. They had created this little world for themselves, keeping everyone else at a distance. And now that Louis had walked away, Zayn worried that Harry would break. He was still just a kid after all, and sometimes Zayn thought that he was the only one in the world that remembered that.  
  
He sighed and flicked off the television, went to the kitchen, and poured a glass of water for Harry. He set it on the end table next to the sofa and took a blanket from the basket in the corner of the room. He kicked off his shoes and sat in the big, fluffy armchair that was mostly unused by anyone that came over to the house. He settled in and wrapped the blanket around himself, curling his cold feet together because it wasn’t long enough to cover them. Soon, he drifted off to sleep to the sound of Harry’s steady breathing across the room.  
  
Harry woke up to the sound of the tea kettle whistling in the kitchen and someone opening and shutting cabinet doors, probably looking for something. The shades were still drawn over the tall picture windows in the living room and he didn’t know whether it was day or night. He pulled one of his blankets around his shoulders and padded towards the kitchen, blinking at the bright light when he made it to the doorway.  
  
Zayn was crouched down in the corner, arms halfway inside the cabinet, rummaging around for something. There were plates of steaming pancakes, waffles, and sausage sitting on the table and mugs ready for the tea that was simmering on the stove. “You made breakfast?” Harry asked, voice deeper than normal from all of the crying.  
  
“I’m not much of a cook, but yeah,” Zayn muttered, his voice muffled as he continued moving things around. “Where do you keep your fucking syrup, Haz?”  
  
Harry smiled in spite of himself and pulled a tiny ceramic pitcher off of the shelf behind the stove. He tapped Zayn on the shoulder and held it in front of him. Zayn grumbled and rolled his eyes. “Why can’t you just keep it in the plastic bottle like everyone else?”  
  
“Not as pretty,” Harry answered, receiving another eye roll in return. He rubbed his swollen eyes and sat down at the table. Zayn got to work pouring the tea and adding milk and sugar like he knew Harry liked. You learn a lot of things about a person when you live together for months at a time in as close quarters as they had.  
  
Harry rubbed his swollen eyes and stared blankly at the pile of waffles in front of him. Zayn was watching out of the corner of his eye and he could tell that Harry was in shock. The night before must’ve seemed so distant to him. The sleep had made it seem far away and almost unreal. Zayn figured he was expecting Louis to just call or turn up and that everything would be back to normal. He couldn’t decide if he was expecting it too. Harry and Louis had fought before, but never like this. Louis absolutely abhorred making Harry cry, and no matter how angry he was or what Harry had done, if he cried he would always fall apart and melt back into the protective, loving Louis that he normally was. Something was different this time.  
  
Maybe, Zayn thought, maybe he had finally had enough. They were all wearing pretty thin these days. The last tour had been brutal. When they weren’t onstage, they were on a bus with no space to themselves and managers and voice coaches and PR people breathing down their necks. Any rebelliousness was quickly saturated. They couldn’t leave their hotel rooms without security and they couldn’t give answers to interview questions without being coached and primped and cued first. Zayn had started to feel like a show animal, and he suspected that the others had felt caged in too. The universe they had created and the bond that held them together was being pulled every which way, and some days he worried that it wasn’t strong enough; that it would break and that they would all fall in different directions, blaming each other for their little pains.  
  
He finished pouring the tea and carried the two mugs to the table, taking the seat across from Harry, who was still staring at the food blankly, hands in his lap. When Zayn scooted one cup across the table, Harry reached out and took it in both hands. "You hungry, man?" Zayn asked.  
  
It seemed like that snapped Harry back to attention. "Yeah, actually. Really hungry." He pulled a waffle onto his plate and began buttering it. "Thanks. For this."  
  
"It's nothing," Zayn said, concentrating on how Harry was acting.  
  
"Did you stay all night? Where did you sleep?" Harry asked through a mouthful of food.  
  
Zayn smiled a little. "Yeah, I slept in the chair. You have a million blankets out there so it was alright.  
  
Harry finally looked up from the table long enough to take in Zayn's appearance. He was wearing his glasses and his hair was uncharacteristically messy, sticking out every which way. Harry was still getting used to the absence of the big, blonde streak that he had called the skunk stripe. He kind of missed it now that it was gone. "You didn't have to. You could have gone home and slept in your own bed."  
  
"You know I can sleep anywhere," Zayn shot back, grinning and lifting a bite of sausage to his mouth. And he could, but the truth was that his neck and back were killing him and he’d woken up every hour or so because of how cold he’d been. But every time he did, he’d just look over to see that Harry was still there. He’d finally decided to make breakfast at eight a.m., the last time he woke up. Harry’s blanket had fallen on the floor while he’d been asleep and he was curled around himself, his toes scrunched up and his arms folded across his chest. Zayn had gotten up from the chair as quietly as he could and walked to the couch. He picked the blanket up from the floor and tucked it back around Harry. Harry exhaled shakily and made a little smacking sound with his lips. He looked so young and vulnerable like this. They’d all shared a bed before, but Zayn had never seen his face this close when he was asleep. In the dim room, standing there looking at his best friend, he was transfixed. Harry’s eyelashes brushed his cheeks and he had his hands curled up so that the sleeves of his sweater almost completely covered them. He looked so fragile and beautiful. Zayn exhaled, realizing he’d been holding his breath.  
  
He imagined how much Harry was hurting. He tried to remember a time when he’d been that crazy over someone. That devastated to be apart from another human being. But he couldn’t. And it made him feel a little jealous. Something inside was aching. He loved Harry, of course. He loved all the boys. But in that moment, seeing him like that, he’d had this urge to just kiss him on the lips. Just to feel some of that love that Harry was so full of. He thought to himself that he had never wanted anything more than to just kiss this beautiful boy who was so hurt and looked so small and alone. But he held himself back and pushed the thought away. He settled for ruffling Harry’s curls and made his way to the kitchen to start the waffles.  
  
The two boys sat at the table for a while, even after the food was gone. The small kitchen was warm from all of the cooking and they sipped their tea and talked about little nothings. Zayn kept adding honey to his and carefully avoiding anything that had to do with Louis. It was hard, because almost everything in Harry’s life was patched with threads of Louis. But Zayn kept it to a new hairstyle he’d been thinking of, cookies his mum had sent him, worrying about his sisters going on dates, and new films that he wanted to see. Harry was less than animated, but he played along with the conversation, grateful that Zayn was there to keep away the quiet.  
  
When the tea had finally run out, Zayn started to clear the plates, but Harry stopped him. “Leave it. Let’s watch a film or something.”  
  
“Lead the way, babe,” Zayn smiled and followed Harry, who was now dragging the blanket behind him. Harry sat down first and flipped on the television, switching the input to his Xbox so that they could pick something on Netflix. Zayn watched Harry nestle into the corner of the couch and pull the blanket around himself again. He suddenly felt the same ache from the night before. He wanted to curl up next to Harry, see how their bodies fit together. He scratched the back of his neck and awkwardly took a seat on the complete opposite end of the couch, careful not to touch Harry, even by accident.  
  
“Wow, didn’t even know they had this film on here,” Harry attempted a smile as he clicked on ‘Harold and Maude,’ an old seventies job about an awkward teenage boy that becomes best friends with an eccentric old lady. Zayn had never seen it before, but after the opening scene he could already tell that this was such a typical Harry Styles movie. He smiled to himself, thinking of Harry the first time he watched it, being the one laughing the loudest and appreciating the dark humour of it. But Harry wasn’t laughing. Each time that Zayn expected him to, he got nothing. He glanced away from the screen, to the other end of the couch. Shiny, wet tears filled Harry’s eyes and he was staring through the television, gritting his teeth and not blinking. The line that appeared between his eyebrows when he was concentrating was as prominent as ever. “Harry?” Zayn said gently.  
  
“Yeah?” Harry stiffly replied, swallowing hard and not taking his eyes away from the carjacking scene.  
  
Zayn could see how hard he was trying not to cry. He could see his Adam’s apple quivering and the tears glossing over bright green irises. He was full of the ache now, just wanted to reach out and touch him, do something. “Talk to me, Haz.”  
  
Harry looked down and a few of the tears leaked. He took a few shaky breaths, but they only flowed faster. A little whimper escaped his lips. He tangled one of his hands in his hair and fisted the other in the material of his sweatpants. Zayn couldn’t take it. He moved closer and pulled Harry into his chest, one hand stroking his curls and the other running slow patterns up and down his back. He his mouth pressed to Harry’s temple, his nose in his hair, repeating, “It’s okay, it’s okay,” over and over, like a prayer as sobs began to rack Harry’s body.  
  
“I dunno what I’m gonna do, Zayn,” Harry choked. His tears were soaking into Zayn’s t-shirt and he clutched onto the back of it with both hands. “I’ve never-I…I love him. It won’t ever stop. I love him and it hurts so bad.”  
  
Zayn held him tighter. He could hear a Cat Stevens song playing in the background and he wished he had something to say. Something that could fix his friend. “He loves you too Harry. This is just harder than we all expected. Our lives aren’t normal. There’s pressure on everything. But he loves you, okay? I can promise you that. We all love you. Who wouldn’t?”  
  
Harry lifted his head up and looked at Zayn, tearstains painting his red cheeks. His lips were swollen and raw and his hands dropped to his lap and tangled together, fingers fumbling with each other. He took a few more quivering breaths, whimpering a little because he was trying to stop crying. Zayn stared at him with parted lips, heart breaking because he had never seen Harry like this. He’d cried before, sure. Everyone knew he wore his heart on his sleeve. But this was the type of crying that most boys did alone. The desperate kind. The broken kind.  
  
Zayn reached out gently and brushed some tears away with one of his thumbs, dragging it from the side of Harry’s nose to his ear. “You’re not alone, Harry. I’m not going anywhere,” he promised quietly.  
  
Zayn let his hand linger on his cheek as he watched Harry’s eyes change from sad to needing. All in a second he was reaching out, grabbing Zayn’s shoulders, but it felt like slow motion. He pulled him forward, closer than they’d ever been. Zayn felt the heat from Harry’s lips before they even touched his own. The kiss was full of want. It felt like Harry was doing it to keep himself from crumbling. It was like he was pulling strength from Zayn, fingernails digging into his shoulders, mouth open slightly. Zayn didn’t know it was going to happen, but he kissed back, holding Harry’s face in his hands, feeling his curls brush his fingertips and the warmth of his cheeks as the kiss got deeper.  
  
And as suddenly as it had happened, it was over. Harry pulled away, dropping his hands and looking down at his lap, cheeks flushed. Zayn couldn’t help but raise two fingers to his own lips, touching them gently. “I’m really sorry. I dunno why I did that,” Harry mumbled. He couldn’t make eye contact with his friend.  
  
“It’s…it’s okay, Haz. You’re just really scared right now,” Zayn fumbled over the words. The ache in his chest was stronger than earlier. He just wanted to replay the kiss over and over, to feel Harry’s skin against his, to finally not feel so-fucking-alone.  
  
Harry shifted towards his end of the couch again. “Yeah,” he said simply.  
  
Zayn wanted to be an understanding, good friend. He wanted to just change the subject and keep watching the movie. But it wasn’t that easy anymore. Because he swore he could taste Harry on his lips. “I think I’m going to run to the store for some food and maybe some wine? I’ll make us something good for dinner, yeah? We can make a night of it,” he said, really just looking for a way out. “I could invite Liam?”  
  
Harry smiled a little. “Yeah, that’d be good.”  
  
Zayn got up from the couch and walked over to his shoes, slipping them back on and pulling a beanie over his messed-up hair. He had a three-day scruff on his chin and when he pulled his coat on, he looked absolutely cuddly. He gave a small wave and walked towards the door with his hands in his pockets.  
  
“Zayn?” Harry called before he walked out. His guts twisted a little and he turned around.  
  
“Yeah Harry?”  
  
“Thank you for being such a good friend to me. I love you.”  
  
Zayn smiled warmly. “I love you too, Harry. Be back soon, yeah?”  
  
Harry nodded and Zayn closed the door behind him.  
  
  
  
  
Zayn knew he was getting in too deep. After the kiss, he had gone to the store and picked out some pasta and ingredients to make a sauce, some wine, and some chocolate eclaires. He called Liam from the baking aisle and asked him to come over after briefly explaining what had happened. He left out his feelings and the kiss of course, and Liam agreed with a voice full of worry, asking if there was anything he could bring and telling Zayn he shouldn’t have left Harry alone at all.  
  
Liam had gotten Harry to laugh a little and even tackled him where he had taken up residence on the couch. They poked and tickled, play fighting like always. Zayn watched quietly from the chair, wishing he’d thought of something like that, something with less weight than the way he’d been trying to comfort Harry, but smiling nonetheless. The mood was light until Liam left, hugging Harry tightly and whispering a few words of encouragement before he walked out the door.  
  
And then they were alone with the dirty dishes and Harry told Zayn to forget them and they sat on the living room floor, eating ice cream and playing cards. When Harry’s eyelids started to droop and he leaned his head on his hand, Zayn knew he was tired. “I’m going to go home and get some sleep, okay?” he asked cautiously. He didn’t want to leave Harry alone yet if he couldn’t handle it.  
  
Harry sensed this and smiled at him. “Yeah, I’ll be alright.” He punched Zayn in the arm lovingly.  
  
“If you’re sure,” he replied and got up off the floor.  
  
Harry got up too and pulled him into a tight hug, slapping him on the back. It was nothing like the closeness they’d shared earlier and Zayn wondered if Harry was making sure that it wasn’t. Zayn made his way to the door and Harry held it open. “See you, mate,” Zayn said as he walked into the hallway.  
  
He didn’t know if he was imagining it, but he thought that Harry looked a little panicked. Nights were always harder when you were alone. Zayn should know, he thought to himself. “Uh, could you maybe come back tomorrow?” Harry asked nervously. “I wouldn’t normally bother you to do it, but-I-“ his voice was a little shaky and unsure.  
  
“Of course, Harry,” Zayn replied.  
  
Harry breathed a sigh of relief and the muscles in his jaw loosened. “Thanks,” he exhaled.  
  
Zayn smiled in return and made his way home, walking through the night with a cigarette dangling from his lips. It was like he was taking the first real breath he’d had all day.  
  
Four days later, things hadn’t changed much. They were sitting on the floor of the living room again, somehow watching ‘Monsters Incorporated’ and drinking Icee’s. Harry’s lips and tongue were bright red and he kept sticking it out at Zayn, and Zayn would return the gesture, except his was screaming blue. Deep down, he was worried about how he felt, sick when he remembered that they’d spent almost every waking moment together for an entire week. But he was so incredibly fond of Harry, so happy to make him smile, that he told himself he didn’t care. He told himself he was just being a good friend. He was just being there.  
  
They had played every board game in the apartment, let the dishes pile up in the sink, ordered too much take out and tipped too generously, and still hadn’t opened the shades on the windows. The third night, while they ate Chinese food out of paper boxes at the kitchen table, Harry told Zayn everything Louis had said, and Zayn listened with sad eyes, holding his chopsticks above his food, memorizing every movement of Harry’s lips. “Have you ever loved someone, Zayn?” Harry asked, voice raw with emotion.  
  
Zayn had looked down at his food and blinked slowly. “Not like that.”  
  
Monsters Incorporated ended and Harry picked the next film. ‘Wreck It Ralph,’ apparently suited his mood. These weren’t movies he’d normally watch. Zayn thought he was sticking to cartoons because they didn’t hurt. There was no overly romanticized storyline, there was no angst, and pain was always fixed. Still, Harry almost cried when Ralph hurt Vanellope’s feelings.  
  
“Hey, come on, man. Let’s do something different,” Zayn encouraged, getting up and going over to his coat that lay across the chair. He didn’t know how Harry would feel about it, but he felt a sudden need for it. He had felt heavy for days, the weight of the air in the apartment like bricks on his shoulders. And he couldn’t leave because there was Harry, and his dark curls and his scent and his porcelain cheeks and his long fingers and the sadness in his eyes even when they laughed. But staying had drawn him into himself, exhausted and thinking too much. He wanted to float.  
  
He pulled a small leather pouch out of his coat pocket and brought it back to where they’d been sitting. He slid to the floor and Harry watched curiously as he unbuttoned it and pulled out a small glass bowl. It was green and yellow, with swirls of blue running through it and it looked like all the colors were moving when Zayn spun it between his fingers. Next, he pulled out a small plastic baggie full of clusters of dark green buds. Harry pursed his lips, watching as Zayn pulled it open and pulled one of the buds apart with his fingers over the coffee table. “Is this okay?” Zayn asked, already anticipating the answer, because he knew Harry would let him.  
  
Harry nodded, and continued staring as Zayn packed the bowl. He leaned back against the couch, holding it in one hand and pulling a lighter out of his pocket with the other. He looked over at Harry, whose eyes were trained on his hands. He put the bowl to his lips and lit the pot, inhaling and making the embers spread across the bowl. He held it in for a second, closing his eyes. He swore he could almost feel his fingertips begin to buzz as he opened them again. He turned to Harry, holding the bowl out to him. “Do you want to?” he almost whispered.  
  
Harry looked him in the eyes, then looked down at the bowl that was still smoking a little. “Yeah,” he drawled and took it from Zayn. He held it to his lips and Zayn moved to light it for him but Harry took the lighter from his hand. “I can do it. Not like I dunno how,” he mumbled. Zayn was a bit taken aback because yes they’d all smoked pot before and yes they’d all been completely wasted together before, but Harry was the baby. He had always taken hits from someone else and he had never been high enough to do anything but giggle at everyone. But here they were.  
  
Zayn watched Harry inhale and he held his breath for as long as Harry did, not able to blink or take his eyes away from his friend’s lips. And then Harry exhaled deliciously slow, smoke curling from his lips that were still red with dye from the Icee. His pupils were already growing and his mouth formed a slow smile as the last of the smoke dissipated.  
  
He passed the bowl back to Zayn and he took another hit, conscious of Harry watching him. The film was over and the menu screen kept restarting, the same song playing over and over again. Harry started to giggle. “What?” Zayn asked, getting a little self-conscious.  
  
“It’s just that you have blue lips,” Harry laughed. “Bright blue. Like a new shade of lipstick or something.”  
  
Zayn grinned and couldn’t help but laugh a little too, imagining how he must look. He had been trying to look so serious and sexy, making GQ model faces and everything, but he’d forgotten that he had blue lips.  
  
“You look so pretty, Zayn,” Harry mocked in a teenage-girl voice. They laughed harder, practically rolling on the ground at the stupid joke. Zayn was so happy and warm. He watched Harry let go and let out that deep throaty chuckle that he usually would smack a hand over his mouth at. They finally calmed down and laid on their sides, each holding their heads up one hand and facing each other. They kept taking turns with the bowl, having conversations that faded into sighs, giggling every once in a while and talking nonsense. Finally, they fell into a comfortable silence and just lay on their backs, staring up at the ceiling.  
  
Zayn’s whole body was buzzing. He felt far away and distant, like nothing could touch him. The music from the television faded into the background and he was floating. He still felt heavy, but in a warm way; a safe way. He usually felt shaky and unsure, and he covered it up with his swagger and his heavy black boots, but when he was like this he felt good. He felt like everything made sense and that he could finally breathe again. He closed his eyes and his long black eyelashes brushed his coffee-colored cheeks.  
  
He was pulled back to the surface when he felt Harry’s warm breath on his face and his body hovering over him. He was supporting himself on his forearms, his face inches from Zayn’s. He looked down at him warmly with low-lidded eyes, pupils blown. Zayn’s breath hitched and he felt something stirring in his stomach, strange and unsettling. Harry reached out slowly with one hand and touched Zayn’s collarbone. He dragged his fingertips down achingly slow, like dripping honey, leaving trails of heat that Zayn could feel through his t-shirt. His breathing was shallow and he couldn’t move, just stared at Harry’s face. His green eyes were following his hand as he moved down Zayn’s chest. “So beautiful,” he murmured dreamily as his hand came to a stop above the waistband on Zayn’s sweatpants, fingertips brushing the skin that was revealed where his t-shirt had come up a little when he lay on the floor.  
  
He sucked in a breath of air, suddenly feeling suffocated. The air was too still and the song on the television got louder again, all sharp notes and brassy sounds. Harry’s hand on his stomach was hot and he slid to a sitting position, forcing Harry to move off of him clumsily. He looked confused, and suddenly Zayn felt his face get hot, felt a touch of anger hit him in the gut. He knew that Harry didn’t mean to, but he was making it so hard. He was getting too close and touching too much and letting Zayn in and he wanted Harry. He wanted him so bad. He wanted to make him shake and fall apart and he wanted to put him back together again. He never knew what Harry was going to do next and he wanted to be in control of it. Even if it was just for one night.  
  
He was lonely all the time. Always pegged as “the mysterious one” because he kept to himself and because he wasn’t like the other boys. He was into books and art and the dark side of things. He was intelligent and unique and just a little offbeat, sometimes prickly but that was only because he didn’t want to be misunderstood or mysterious. He just wanted someone to love him for who he was. To understand his pain. To hold him.  
  
Zayn looked around the room feeling dazed, and then got to his feet. “I gotta go,” he mumbled, not able to come up with a better explanation as the anger and the ache started flooding over the warm buzz that he’d had just a few minutes ago.  
  
Harry looked up at him with questioning eyes, lips hanging on the edge of a question but settling for, “You don’t have to.”  
  
Zayn grabbed his coat and shoved the bowl back into the pocket, then hastily slid back into his shoes. “Yeah I do,” he said quickly, and hurried towards the door, not even bothering to put his coat on. He left Harry sitting on the floor, feeling empty and odd and wondering what he’d done wrong as the door to the flat slammed shut.  
  
  
  
  


After Zayn left Harry’s flat, he walked across the dark courtyard with a cigarette hanging from his downturned lips and his hands shoved deep into his pockets. __Fuck, fuck, fuck. He repeated it in his head like a mantra. He had no idea what this was or what he was doing. He had seen every one of Harry’s facial expressions a million times. They had slept with limbs draped across each other’s in their bus more nights than he could count. But it was never like this. It never set him on fire like this. He kept telling himself that it was only because he was lonely. He always got lonely when they had breaks. He’d hibernate in his flat, living in sweatpants and glasses, not shaving, smoking, sleeping. He sat around and played records that burned holes into him. He never knew what to do when all of his personal space wasn’t being invaded by the other four. It left him empty and unsure. Yeah, he thought to himself, yeah you’re just lonely. Get ahold of yourself.  
  
His cigarette had burned to a nub and he had already passed his flat. He was walking down the street in front of their complex and it was starting to snow. The white flakes stuck to his eyelashes and lingered on the shoulders of his dark jacket before melting into nothing. His breath came out in white clouds in front of him and he hunched his shoulders against the cold. He walked for a few more blocks, faster than normal like he was trying to shake something off or to run from something.  
  
When the cold had seeped deep enough into his bones to calm him down and steady his shaking hands, he turned around and walked home. He opened the door to his cold flat, abandoned for the past week except for the few hours that he would come home at night to sleep. He didn’t bother turning any lights on and after he had stripped off his coat and shirt, he kicked his shoes off too and practically fell into bed. All he wanted was to sleep so that he could stop thinking. As soon as his head hit the cool pillow, he closed his eyes and settled into the cocoon he had made for himself and drifted off.  
  
  
  
  


The next day, Zayn woke up feeling like the previous night had been a dream. He felt almost stupid for making a big deal out of it. He blamed himself because of how he felt about Harry and he decided he should’ve just shoved him off and made it all into a joke. Now he could practically feel the cloud he had created by acting like some spazzy little teenage girl. He got out of bed and into the shower and quickly decided that he had to go over and apologize. He wanted to explain himself or make some kind of excuse for why he’d hurried out so quickly. Maybe he could tell him he’d smoked too much and felt sick. He could blame it all on the weed or something.  
  
He considered all of these options while he walked the short distance to Harry’s flat, stomach twisting into nervous knots. When he arrived in front of the door, he stamped out his cigarette on his shoe and stuck the remaining half of it behind his ear, then knocked. He heard stirring in the living room and the shuffling of feet in the entryway before the door clicked open to reveal a sleepy Harry, shirtless and shoeless. His eyes brightened when he saw Zayn and he moved aside to let him in.  
  
He had opened the shades in the living room and he perched on the arm of the couch while Zayn made a spot for himself on the edge of the arm chair and leaned his elbows on his knees, clasping his hands in front of him nervously. He took in Harry’s appearance. The sun from the tall windows hit his face head on and his eyes looked almost emerald, thoughtful and warm but still hard to read. His hair was messy and dull looking because he hadn’t taken a shower in a few days. His tattoos peppered his arms and torso and he curled and uncurled his toes waiting for Zayn to say something.  
  
Looking at Harry, he didn’t want to apologize. He wanted to tell him how he felt. But he knew it wouldn’t be fair. Harry loved Louis and he was hurting. He didn’t need some asshole adding to it all. “Harry, ‘m sorry I left so suddenly last night. I smoked way too much and I had, like a panic attack or something. I don’t really know what it was but I felt so sick all of a sudden. I just had to get outside.”  
  
Harry nodded and smiled a crooked little smile. “It’s okay. We were both pretty gone I’d say.”  
  
“Yeah,” Zayn agreed in relief, smiling a little too.  
  
They both got quiet then and kind of sat in silence for a minute, but it wasn’t awkward or uncomfortable. There was just nothing to say until Harry broke it. “I really miss him, Zayn,” he said quietly.  
  
“I know you do.” Zayn couldn’t look at him. He felt so selfish.  
  
Harry’s eyes welled up again. “I try not to, but it’s all I think about. I can’t sleep in my bed because it’s too big. He hasn’t even tried to call me. I feel like, wrecked. I feel like I’m never going to be okay again. I can’t go on the next tour. I can’t stand next to him on a stage. I just want him,” Harry rasped as he locked eyes with Zayn, “and he’s not coming back. Why isn’t he coming back?”  
  
Zayn just stared back. “I-I dunno Harry.” He got up and walked over to where Harry sat, sitting next to him and wrapping his arm around his broad shoulders. “You’re gonna get through this, okay? I promise.” Harry leaned into Zayn and closed his eyes. He nodded and sighed, pulling himself together.  
  
“I’m gonna go have a shower. And then maybe we can actually leave this place and get some lunch?” Harry suggested as he stood up.  
  
“Yeah, sounds great,” Zayn agreed and leaned back into the couch. He flipped on the television and picked some show about the history of hip-hop. He heard the shower being turned on and he smiled to himself. Everything was okay. Harry hadn’t overanalyzed it like he had been worried he would.  
  
A few minutes passed and then Harry’s phone began buzzing on the coffee table. Someone was calling him. Zayn ignored it, figuring that whoever it was would just leave a message. The phone went silent and he turned his attention back to the show. A second later, it started to buzz again. He leaned forward and picked it up out of curiosity. A picture of Louis standing in the waves when they’d been in California was glowing on the screen and in big white letters it read “LOU.” He was actually calling Harry. A sharp pain shot through Zayn’s chest. Before he knew what he was doing, he answered it. “Hello?”  
  
“Zayn?” Louis replied, sounding confused.  
  
“Yeah, hi Louis,” he confirmed, trying not to give anything away with his voice.  
  
Louis coughed uncomfortably. “Where’s Harry?”  
  
Zayn paused, considering his options, and he looked over at the picture on the end table. Harry was kissing Louis on the cheek, Louis smiling one of his genuine, eye-crinkling smiles. “He’s asleep.”  
  
“Oh…kay.” Louis sounded flustered.  
  
Zayn lowered his voice, afraid that Harry might hear. “Listen, Lou…you shouldn’t call him again. He doesn’t want to talk to you. He’s just trying to get better. Just leave it, yeah?”  
  
“Well, thank you for your observation Zayn, but I happen to want to talk to him. And I don’t think it’s up to you, really,” Louis shot back, suddenly angry because all he wanted was to speak to Harry, to try to figure things out.  
  
Zayn felt guilt spreading from his stomach and growing heavy in his chest, but he couldn’t stop. “I know it isn’t. When he wakes up, I’ll tell him you called. Just give him a few days.”  
  
Louis scoffed into the phone. “Yeah, thanks.” He hung up after that, and Zayn stared at the screen. He heard the water stop in the bathroom, and the glass door being opened. He felt sick and nervous and he fought himself, his conscience pulling him one way and the ache pulling him another. In the end, his conscience lost and he flipped to the call history in Harry’s phone. He deleted the calls from Louis and hit the silver button on top of the phone, locking the screen. He set it back on the table in front of him and leaned back into the couch, feeling like he was going to be sick. __It’s best for him. It really is, he reasoned with himself. __Or is it best for you, you selfish bastard?  
  
  
  
  


The two spent the day out to lunch and shopping, Zayn coaxing smiles from Harry and practically forgetting about what he’d done earlier. Harry’s shoulders hunched with the weight of missing Louis, but he let himself enjoy being out and about, trying to smile when people asked for photos and waving to the paparazzi, friendly as always.  
  
It was dark when they returned to Harry’s flat and they sat on the couch, which Zayn realized was becoming a habit. Being back in the flat reminded him of the truth he wasn’t telling and his head started to spin a little. Harry was oblivious to it and laughed about some crazy male fan they’d met that day while he picked yet another film on pay per view. Zayn sat rigidly in his corner of the couch, nodding and trying to laugh at all the appropriate times. He noticed Harry begin to gravitate towards him about halfway through the film.  
  
His green eyes were tired and he laid his head on Zayn’s shoulder. Zayn didn’t react, just let him leave it there, brushing it off as Harry being cuddly like he was with everyone. They watched the rest of the movie like that and even after Zayn’s arm fell asleep he didn’t move it.  
  
When the movie ended he leaned forward and stretched his legs a little bit, sighing. Harry sat up straight and turned the television back to a normal channel. “Well, I think I’m gonna get home now. I’m pretty tired,” Zayn said and stood up, ready to get his shoes from the spot that was becoming their second home.  
  
Harry stayed in his spot and opened his mouth to say something. It took him a few seconds before asking, but he was so lonely. He thought to himself that he couldn’t handle another night in that bed alone. “Do you want to stay?” he asked. He thought he already knew the answer, but the question hung in the air and for a second, he wished he hadn’t said it.  
  
Zayn glared at the floor. He knew why Harry was asking, and he knew that it wasn’t really him that Harry wanted. He would just be a body to hold onto. “I said I’d watch a movie, Harry. I didn’t say I’d stay.” He said it a little harsher than he’d meant to. He scratched the back of his neck with one hand while the other hung loosely at his side.  
  
“Zayn, please,” Harry’s scratchy voice cut into his gut and the television light flickered across his face. It was hard to ignore it; the way his pink lips formed around the words and the need in his glassy eyes, his walls suddenly crumbling because he just desperately didn’t want to be alone for another night.  
  
“Please what? Harry, I-“ Zayn was trying his hardest to protest but he was sitting back down next to Harry before he’d even finished his sentence. “I’m going home, I’m not staying,” he said, more to convince himself than for Harry’s benefit.  
  
Harry was grasping for ways to make Zayn stay, his mind set on keeping him there. And once he set his mind to something, he made it happen. He leaned very close to Zayn and Zayn could feel the heat from his body. He slid his large hand to the side of Zayn’s face and ghosted his thumb over Zayn’s cheek. “What if I-“ he moved his face so that their lips were inches apart, so close that Zayn could feel his breath and smell what was left of the cologne he’d put on that morning. “What if I did this?” Harry practically whispered and pulled Zayn’s face to his, kissing him slow and deep, begging him to stay.  
  
Zayn let himself melt into it, a warm feeling in his stomach and his brain buzzing. But then he remembered what was really happening and he pulled away, hurt and glaring at Harry. “You can’t use me, Harry, I won’t let you,” he spat bitterly and stood up again. He blew through the little front hall and managed to get his hand on the doorknob before Harry caught up to him. He grabbed his arms and pulled him back, holding on a little roughly. Zayn was breathing heavily, staring back at Harry with merciless intent, the honey color of his eyes now dark and menacing.  
  
Harry’s eyes were soft, still tinged with desperation and now, guilt. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry Zayn. I-I didn’t mean to take-to take advantage. I-you’re-“ he was interrupted when Zayn lunged at him, grabbing his shoulders and throwing him against the wall so that he was trapped between it and Zayn’s body. He crashed his lips into Harry’s and grabbed at the curls on each side of his face, using them to pull him closer. He slipped his tongue into Harry’s mouth and slid it along his bottom lip, then bit and pulled a little. The kiss was angry, desperate, both of their energies colliding into something dangerous, something fiery.  
  
His hands trailed roughly down Harry’s neck and collar bone and he pulled away after fisting his hands in the front of Harry’s shirt. He pressed his forehead to Harry’s and stared at him intently, breathing hard. “What do you think this is Harry? What are you doing to me? You’re fucking tearing me apart.” He closed his eyes and his voice calmed a little. Harry wasn’t blinking. “It’s just-I’ve never-I want you Harry. You’re so beautiful and I want you so bad. I love you. But I’m not him. I want to take away everything that makes you hurt, but….but I’m not him.”  
  
Harry grabbed his shoulders and squeezed as he exhaled. “Stop talking. Please, please stop. Just do something. I want you to do something.”  
  
“What do you want me to do?” Zayn’s eyes flickered open again.  
  
“Make me forget him. Just for tonight, make me forget him,” he breathed, voice on the edge of begging.  
  
Zayn wanted to. He wanted to take Harry to the bedroom and wreck him, completely tear him apart like he’d been tearing Zayn apart for days. He wanted to do filthy things to him and get drunk on the feeling of him. He wanted to hear his own name spilling from Harry’s full lips, pure porn by themselves. He wanted to hold his wrists above his head and make him beg. He wanted to coax the cum out of him, taste it, make him feel good. But he couldn’t because he kept remembering Louis’ picture on the screen of Harry’s phone. He kept remembering that he knew that Harry didn’t have to be alone; that the person he missed so much missed him too.  
  
“I can’t, Harry,” Zayn sighed defeatedly, voice full of pain.  
  
He clutched at Zayn’s chest and protested. “Yes you can. I want you to.”  
  
Zayn gritted his teeth and bit his lip because he wanted to more than anything. But he couldn’t do this to his friends. “Louis called you today. He misses you. I lied about it.”  
  
Harry’s arms went limp and slid down Zayn’s chest. The look in his eyes was awful, a mix of confusion and betrayal. He had never looked as young to Zayn as he did then and he wanted to fall through the floor and disappear. Anything would be better than seeing this.  
  
Before Harry could say anything, Zayn said sorry and hurried out the door. He walked quickly down the hall and home to his empty flat, ready to stay at home for the next week and punish himself with his thoughts. He worried that this would change everything. Nothing would ever be the same. He fell asleep to horrible thoughts and a sick stomach.  
  
  
  
  


Zayn didn’t wake up until almost three the next day. He rolled over and pulled the pillow over his head, wishing that he could rewind everything. His phone screen was lit up on the table next to him, alerting him that he had three missed calls. Two were from Harry and one was from his sister. He listened to the voicemail that Harry had left. “Zayn, I’m sorry. I really am sorry for what I did to you. I could see how you felt and I took advantage of it because I was hurting. I love you. You’re my best friend and I want you to know that. I never want to hurt you. Nobody should ever hurt you. Please come over when you get this. We’ll talk about everything and we’ll fix it. I just want us to go back to how we were. Friends through everything. Please.”  
  
Zayn was going to ignore it at first, but that lasted for all of ten minutes. He had to take the chance to mend it, so he headed out and took the walk to the flat that was becoming all too familiar. When he climbed the steps and reached the door he heard Harry’s deep laugh coming from inside the apartment. And then a voice that he hadn’t expected, but admittedly should have. “Yes Harold, I got a Killers tattoo, go ahead and laugh some more.” It was Louis. Zayn leaned against the doorframe. He suddenly couldn’t stand up straight anymore. He took a few deep breaths and one big gulp and knocked on the door.  
  
It took a few seconds, but Louis answered. “Zayn!” he grinned and hugged the taller boy, patting him on the back a few times. He smiled and gestured towards Harry. “You were right. It just took giving him some space. He called me this morning,” he explained so that only Zayn could hear. “Thank you, mate. Whatever you did, thank you.”  
  
Zayn forced a smile and hugged Louis back. He made his way to the living room and had to sit in the chair because Louis plopped down next to Harry on the couch. He was practically glowing, their thighs touching and his hand on Harry’s knee. Zayn couldn’t make eye contact at first. “I’m glad everything’s okay now,” he said evenly. He let himself glance at Harry and their eyes met. Harry smiled and nodded slightly. He kept Zayn’s gaze for a while as Louis rambled on about something, apologizing through his eyes.  
  
Watching them together, Zayn knew that this was right. They mirrored each other’s movements and the hollow look in Harry’s eyes was gone. His cheeks were pink and his smile was genuine. He was practically radiating warmth and Louis looked at him so fondly. So happy just to be sitting next to him. Harry had that effect on people. But it was rare that he felt the same about them. And it was clear that there was no one he’d rather be sitting next to than Louis Tomlinson.  
  
Zayn finally smiled back at Harry and returned the nod. He knew that his friends loved him and he knew that Harry would never mention any of it or hold any of it over his head. And he could shove the feelings down. He was good at that. As long as he had his boys, it would be okay. It was going to be okay.  
  
After lunch with Harry and Louis, Zayn trudged back to his flat and kicked off his boots. He lay in his bed and pulled the covers up to his chin. He slipped one hand out of the top and ghosted two fingers over his bottom lip, red and bruised from the last of the two kisses. He smiled sadly to himself and drifted to sleep.


End file.
